STAR TREK: TOS #12 - Mutiny on the Enterprise

by Robert E. Vardeman

  “What’s wrong with the Enterprise?” he demanded, slamming a fist down against the communications console. Uhura looked up, startled. Sulu and Chekov both peered over their shoulders from their posts. Others on the bridge cast sidelong glances at their captain before returning to their duties.

  “Captain, the ship is in need of specific repairs, but other than that, nothing is wrong with it.”

  “Dammit, Spock, don’t be so literal. I mean the crew. Why is McCoy arguing with Mek Jokkor? He has no place to. Where’d he get the idea that the Federation is being used by Ammdon?”

  “It seems a plausible maneuver on the part of a developing world. Our interests range farther than theirs, and [43] they see the chance for specific gain while we pursue a more general position.”

  “In other words, you’re agreeing with Lor—” Kirk stopped, swallowed, then continued. “You’re agreeing with McCoy that Ammdon is playing us for the fool, that the Enterprise will be dragged into this war on their side against Jurnamoria.”

  “It is conceivable, but one must take into account the experience and superior knowledge of the negotiating team sent by the Federation Council. Zarv’s record, for all his personal truculence, is impeccable. He is no one’s fool—or tool.”

  “Neither is Lorritson. Or, I suspect, Mek Jokkor.”

  “Quite correct, Captain.”

  This soothed some of the emotional storm raging within, but anger remained. “McCoy. Has he spoken with Lorelei recently? Within the past hour or two?”

  “Unknown, Captain. Why not ask the doctor?” Spock’s focus shifted to a point behind his commander. Kirk turned to see McCoy striding onto the bridge, a grim expression set on his craggy face.

  “Jim, I want to protest about that refugee from a succotash.”

  “Mek Jokkor?”

  “Yeah, the plant fellow. He insulted me. Made me angry. I don’t like that.”

  “I’m sure you don’t.” Kirk started to say he’d listened to the transcript of the argument, then decided to take a different tack. If the doctor knew he’d been spied upon, he’d become totally unreasonable and nothing would be resolved. For whatever reason, Kirk sensed that this entire matter reached far beyond simple disagreement between medical doctor and diplomatic aide.

  “He wanted to continue on this snipe hunt, and I think [44] we ought to turn around and go home. The crew needs rest. The ship is falling apart. As a medical opinion, absolutely official, mind you, it is my recommendation to return to base.”

  “Your appraisal is noted, Doctor. I’ve seen the signs of fatigue mounting. I’m not blind. But you must also take into account the dire situation that exists between Ammdon and Jurnamoria.”

  “Ammdon is using us.”

  “No doubt Mek Jokkor realizes that possibility. I am certain Zarv and Lorritson do, also. Tell me, Bones, before you and Mek Jokkor got involved in your, uh, discussion, what were you doing?”

  “Doing? Nothing. My job. How should I know? I don’t keep a minute-by-minute diary.”

  “Maybe you should. It’d make checking up on certain items easier for me.”

  “Such as?” demanded the doctor, squaring his shoulders and bracing himself, as if getting ready for a fight.

  “I needed to know about Lorelei’s condition, for example. She’s not quite human. It’d be a shame to allow her to slowly die from trace-element deficiencies in her diet, for instance. She’s been through a lot, poor girl.”

  Kirk felt the tightness around his heart again as he mentioned the woman’s name. Something about her was not normal. Certainly his responses to her weren’t normal.

  “Checked her out completely just before I got into it with that animated rutabaga. She’s fine, Jim. Don’t worry about her.”

  “How long did her examination take?” Kirk tried to sound nonchalant about it, yet his tenseness communicated itself to McCoy.

  “I’m a doctor,” said McCoy, his voice as cold as the vacuum of space. “I don’t like your insinuation. Nurse Chapel [45] was in the room the entire examination. And afterward all Lorelei and I did was talk about this damned so-called peace mission.”

  “I apologize, Bones. I didn’t mean to imply you’d done anything unethical.”

  The doctor shook his head and left the bridge. Kirk sat in his command seat and drummed restless fingers against the armrest. Lorelei had spoken to Bones McCoy minutes before the argument with Mek Jokkor and less than a half hour prior to her meeting with Kirk in his cabin. McCoy had swallowed her beliefs as completely as matter and antimatter interact. And he hadn’t realized it.

  Kirk rubbed his temples. His head began throbbing with a migraine pain that refused to die down.

  “Look at this, Kirk. Just look at it!” Ambassador Zarv shook the flimsy sheet of paper under the captain’s nose. “It is the latest subspace radio communiqué from Starbase One. They report heightened tensions between Ammdon and Jurnamoria. To make it all the worse, the Romulans are moving heavy cruisers to the demarcation line. They will invade soon, and all because you are a fool!”

  The piglike diplomat snorted and began pawing at the hard deck plate. His pudgy hands shook uncontrollably and his eyes widened in anger until the whites showed entirely around his irises. Kirk thought the Tellarite was on the point of losing control.

  “Ambassador Zarv, the message is important. I grant that, but I also have to take into consideration the condition of my ship. To increase speed now is out of the question.”

  “Then peace will be out of the question, Kirk,” said the Tellarite diplomat in a fierce voice, “you will be responsible for plunging the entire Orion Arm into war for the next hundred years. The Federation might never recover our [46] position because you refused to squeeze a little tighter on the engines and get my team there in time!”

  James Kirk fought down his own anger. Why wouldn’t Zarv listen? The Tellarite’s fanaticism concerning the Romulans was understandable, after what Donald Lorritson had told him. Zarv’s entire family had been killed by the Romulans in a brief incursion years before. His hatred for them and all they stood for transcended mere duty; it took on personal overtones. But the diplomat refused to consider anything not directly bearing on his mission.

  “Which would you prefer, Ambassador?” spoke up Spock. “To possibly arrive sooner, due to increased speed, and take the chance of the engines being destroyed and thereby never arriving, or to maintain current speed and be assured of arrival, albeit later than you desire?”

  “What is this, a guessing game? You know my preference. Speed and arrival. Pash!” The Tellarite crammed the subspace message into his jacket pocket and stormed off, leaving Donald Lorritson behind. Lorritson straightened and tugged slightly at the tails of his impeccable high-dinner jacket.

  “The ambassador is upset due to the nature of the message, Captain,” Lorritson began.

  “I appreciate that, but I want you to consider that one of my engineering chiefs is in sick bay because of a stabilizer-circuit malfunction. It wasn’t a fatal accident, but it points up the dangers involved in pushing crew and ships beyond their limit.”

  The relief Kirk experienced at having said his piece washed over him. There was scant need to remain silent on either his feelings or the actual condition of the Enterprise. But the sensation faded quickly and Kirk once more experienced the nightmare fantasy of being trapped in the jaws of a nutcracker. On the one hand he fought the growing need to [47] abandon the mission and return to starbase—as Lorelei desired—and on the other there was Zarv and his insistence on not only continuing with the mission but throwing caution to the winds and rocketing forward at emergency speeds.

  Donald Lorritson studied him for a moment, then quietly said, “It is not easy being the captain of a starship. It isn’t easy, either, being responsible for the destinies of two planets on the brink of war—with the added danger of Romulan incursion.”

  “We understand one another, Mr. Lorritson. I only wish your ambassador would make the effort to
do likewise.”

  “He knows, sir. The Tellarite makeup is not ideal for quiet discussion or,” he said, turning toward Spock, “logical debate. In certain situations, such as this one, such a personality makes Zarv ideal.”

  “It is difficult to believe.”

  Lorritson smiled wanly. “You haven’t met the Ammdons or the Jurnamorians.”

  “I have encountered the Romulans, and that alone makes me agree to continue pushing both my ship and personnel to the limit.”

  “Thank you, Captain. Now I must join Zarv and Mek Jokkor. We are analyzing potential approaches to the problem facing us.”

  “The computer is yours.”

  Lorritson nodded curtly, then left. Kirk focused his eyes on the forward viewscreen. Warp factor one caused the stars to creep by, as if they had been dipped in some sort of cosmic glue. His only hope for getting out of the nutcracker’s jaws was to deliver the diplomatic team as swiftly as possible.

  But Lorelei’s words were so beguiling. ...

  * * *

  [48] “So the Scotsman smooths his kilt after lookin’ at the blue ribbon and says, ‘Well, me wee bairn, I don’t know where ye been or what ye been doin’, but ye took first prize!’ ” Heather McConel finished the joke just as Kirk walked into the engineering design office. The redheaded chief sucked in her breath and turned to stare straight ahead at a blank bulkhead. Kirk pretended he hadn’t heard the punch line at all.

  Montgomery Scott noted the sudden change in his chief’s demeanor and spun in the swivel seat to face the door. When he saw his captain, his face flushed.

  “As you were,” snapped Kirk. “Scotty, a word with you. Outside.”

  “Aye, sair.” Scotty shot a venomous look at McConel, then followed Kirk out into the corridor. “What ye heard isn’t as it seems, Captain.”

  “That joke? Scotty, it’s so old it creaks. And why should I care if my crew tells jokes?”

  “Ye don’t mind, then?”

  “I have more pressing matters to worry about. Such as the engines. What’s their status?”

  “Captain, they’re nae so good.” Scotty always told him that. Kirk dismissed it with a wave of his hand, demanding to know the precise condition of the warp engines. “This time I mean it, sair. I kenna little else to do to help the poor things.”

  “Can you get me warp three for any length of time?”

  “Impossible,” the dour Scotsman declared with conviction. “Even at warp two, it’d be chancy. Unless ...”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, Captain, there’s a chance—a long one—that Chief McConel and I can do a wee bit of tinkerin’. Just a chance, mind you.”

  [49] “How much? How fast, Scotty? What can I expect? When?”

  Scotty shook his head before replying. “I dinna want to raise your hopes like this. It might be nothin’.”

  “Scotty,” said Kirk, slapping the engineer on the back, “knowing you, it’ll be something. What are you thinking about?”

  “The stabilizer for the exciter circuit is what’s limitin’ us. With constant vigilance, we might be able to hold things together at warp three. But not one wee bit more!”

  “Do it, Scotty, and I’ll see that Admiral McKenna personally gives you a commendation.”

  “Keep the commendation, sair. Just let me rebuild the engines in peace once we return to starbase.”

  “Done. You and Chief McConel get to work. I’ll check back in an hour.” Kirk watched Scotty herd his red-haired chief out of the design room and down the corridor toward the engine room. All the way they hotly debated Scotty’s newest scheme. They vanished around a bend in the corridor, and Kirk strode off in the opposite direction. He had to check in with Spock to make certain everything else in the Enterprise functioned to perfection.

  “Heather,” called out Montgomery Scott, “increase power level by ten paircent, then cut back when I tell you.” He balanced precariously atop a jury-rigged ladder to reach part of the stabilizer circuit not meant for casual inspection. A long-armed quantum wrench vanished through the bulkhead access port and into the guts of the exciter stabilizer.

  Nothing happened. His keen eyes watched the meter movement, and the readout never wavered from its norm. Scotty twisted about and peered down at the engineering control panel where Heather McConel stood, hands on dials.

  [50] “What’s wrong?” he called. “There’s nae even a wee movement in the readin’.”

  Still nothing. Scotty cursed under his breath, braced the wrench so he wouldn’t have to reposition it later, then retraced his way down the makeshift ladder built from boxes and scrap aluminum tubing. He dropped to the deck and turned to find why his chief hadn’t responded. His Scottish anger rose when he saw Heather McConel talking with Lorelei, hands gesticulating in a manner that showed his redheaded chief was totally absorbed in the conversation.

  “Chief McConel,” he said loudly, “why are you nae tendin’ to duty like I ordered?”

  “Huh? Oh, Scotty, I want ye to listen to what the lass has to say. I find it a mite perplexing, but maybe you can make heads or tails out of it.”

  He stalked over, his anger mounting at the delay. He’d been ordered by his captain to get the most possible from the engines. They strained and whined in a most unbecoming manner. Considerable retuning would be required before the Enterprise mounted even a steady warp-two speed, much less the warp three that Kirk desired. This mousy-haired alien only distracted him and his technicians from the work at hand. Scotty didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all, and it startled him that Heather put up with the interruption.

  “What is it?” He stood, hands balled on hips.

  “Commander Scott,” Lorelei said in a low, coaxing voice, “I do so hate to disturb you, but I wanted to see how an expert engineer worked. You keep the engines in such fine form.”

  Her words took some of the heat from his anger. Still ...

  “Lass, that’s a fine thing you’re sayin’ about me and the engines, but we do have work to do.”

  “Work that will destroy the entire ship.”

  [51] “What?”

  “This is what I wanted ye to hear, Scotty,” spoke up Heather. “Lorelei has some interesting things to say. They make sense.”

  “I canna take the time to listen to wild stories.” Scotty’s resolve faded as he looked at Lorelei. She appeared no lovelier to him than she had before; Heather was more like a fine lass ought to be. But Lorelei’s aspect altered subtly in his mind. She seemed more commanding, more competent, more knowledgeable. The small woman radiated an air of competence. Scotty appreciated that.

  The least he could do was afford her a few seconds.

  “What is it ye have to say?”

  Scotty and Heather found themselves listening enraptured as the woman began speaking. Her voice carried conviction, appeal, touched all the right spots in her listeners’ psyches. In spite of himself, Scotty found he agreed more and more. The few times he began to protest, Lorelei countered his arguments in such a fashion he found himself lost in a maelstrom of logic and evidence. It became easier to believe her than to disbelieve.

  Lorelei left the two behind, quietly talking over all she’d said. No hint of accomplishment showed on the petite woman’s features. Only sadness. Extreme sadness.

  “Scotty!” called out James Kirk. “How’s it going? Scotty?” Kirk looked around the engineering deck. The control panels were deserted and no human stirred. He heard quiet electronic humming as relays shunted immense amounts of power back and forth from the engines through the stabilizer circuits controlling the magnetic bottles holding in the hellfire of the matter-antimatter reaction. But no human sounds.

  “Scotty? McConel?” Irritation was slowly displaced by [52] nagging fear. Something was amiss. Scotty didn’t abandon his post. Especially not when the adjustments needed to the engines were critical. Commander Scott would live, eat, sleep and breathe engines until they performed to fullest capacity. Going off and taking his entire staff wi
th him ran counter to all the man believed in.

  Kirk went to the intercom and punched the button. “Bridge? Get me Spock.”

  A muted voice on the other end mumbled, to be replaced by the Vulcan’s crisp acknowledgment.

  “Spock, do you know where Mr. Scott is? I can’t seem to locate him.”

  “He is not at his post?”

  “Neither is Heather McConel.”

  “Peculiar. One moment, Captain.” Kirk impatiently shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited for his science officer to interrogate the ship’s computer. In less than ten seconds Spock’s voice echoed from the speaker. “I find no life-form readings on engineering deck other than yours. However, there are many unusual readings coming from the engineering design laboratory. Is it possible Mr. Scott is there conducting appropriate experiments?”

  “Possible, Spock, but I wonder. Check out the engines. What are the power levels?”

  “Warp factor one, sir, but there is some indication that power levels are deteriorating at a rate that will leave us adrift in less than forty hours.”

  “You mean the engines are being throttled back?”

  “Precisely, Captain.”

  Kirk slammed his fist into the intercom button and broke the connection. He stormed from the engineering deck to the design lab. Scotty and Heather sat at the large table in the center of the room, a dozen others from the [53] engineering staff arrayed around them like apostles at the Last Supper.

  “What’s the meaning of cutting back oft the power, Scotty? After I ordered increased speed?”

  The expression on Scott’s face puzzled Kirk. His engineer might be angry or contrite or happy, but seldom had he seen him confused. The man almost stuttered, his confusion was so great.

  “Captain, we been discussin’ the engines. ’Tis not a good situation we have developin’.”